


Stone Cold Sober

by Babierhys



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Boys In Love, Confessions, Everyone Is Gay, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay, Getting Together, High School, Kissing, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou, Mutual Pining, OsaSuna Week, Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Underage Substance Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:07:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29052624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Babierhys/pseuds/Babierhys
Summary: They drive in silence after that, the sun sinking lower and lower down the West horizon. It washes the streets in shades of orange and pink. Suna hums to the songs, his shoulders slouched as usual but Osamu can see the strain in them. It takes everything in him not to reach out and touch them, maybe do something to ease the tension wound so tight in him. But he doesn’t; all he does is fist his hands in his lap and look out the window because even though they spend most of their days and nights together- be it in school or in this car or the arcade in the heart of the town- Osamu still doesn’t know how to touch Suna Rintarou in the dying light of the day when they are both stone cold sober and there’s a god awful love song playing in the background.
Relationships: In love - Relationship, Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou, friends with benefits - Relationship
Kudos: 7





	Stone Cold Sober

**Author's Note:**

> Haikyuu is my comfort anime and I have a lot of favourite ships (obviously) but one fine night I was listening to Arctic Monkeys and of course, I kept thinking about OsaSuna so here we are. This is my first ever fanfic based on the Haikyuu characters. Hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> PS. Although I always feel like they somehow have an Arctic Monkeys song playing in the background, I kind of got inspired by Lorde as well. If you wanna catch the vibes of this piece, you could listen to the following songs in this order.
> 
> Arabella by Arctic Monekys  
> Sober by Lorde  
> Scary Love by The Neighbourhood

Miya Osamu is on his back, eyes almost drifting close, when his phone dings. His first instinct is to ignore the message- something he does quiet often, and it irritates everyone around him endlessly- but on second thought, he turns around and scrambles to find his phone from under his bed. _How did it even get there?_ Swiping it open, he sees a text from Suna Rintarou; it doesn’t say much- his texts rarely ever do- but it makes the left corner of Osamu’s mouth lift in a ghost of a smile nonetheless.

_“Do you wanna get out of here?”_

_“Yeah, see you in 15?”_

_“Alright”_

The sun is about to go down, the sky streaked with various shades of orange, as Osamu hops out of bed and changes out of an old pair of volleyball shorts and a faded t shirt and into black pants and a navy blue sweatshirt. Running his hands through his hair, he tries to remember how many times he and Suna have gone out like this after sundown in the past few months- too many times to keep track of, in all honesty. While Osamu would be more than okay to pass out after dinner despite Atsumu’s incessant whining about practicing their quick attacks more, especially on school nights, he always ends up doing something or the other with Suna.

Contrary to popular belief, Suna is actually a very restless person. Unless he’s so stoned that his limbs feel like jelly, sleep rarely comes to him. So he spends most of his evening driving around Hyogo and somehow, for some reason that is still unknown to either of the boys, Osamu always ends up accompanying him in his shenanigans. And now that he’s gotten his driver’s license, there’s nothing stopping him.

Slipping on his shoes, Osamu leaves the house and is about to text Suna when he finds the latter parked down the street. Sliding into the passenger seat, he mumbles a ‘hey’ to the fox eyed boy. Suna is in a black hoodie and ripped jeans, the rings on his right ear gleaming in the golden light surrounding the street. He’s rolling a joint, his narrow eyes trained on the strip of rolling paper and its contents with the dedication and intensity of a sculptor polishing his most precious work. He isn’t a man of many words but Osamu distinctly remembers Suna mentioning once that it isn’t just smoking marijuana that is helpful to him and his nerves, it’s the entire process of grinding the weed and rolling it that he finds calming. And if truth be told, as he watches Suna’s nimble fingers work- the black nail polish of his index finger on the left a little chipped- he is almost transfixed himself.

Without saying anything, Suna offers Osamu his phone that is already connected to the aux cord. Suna’s eyes drift to the grey haired boy in his passenger seat and for a split second, he is taken aback by the subtle beauty of Miya Osamu for the billionth time. The tips of his hair brush his forehead, his hooded eyes devoid of expression but still the brightest pair Suna’s ever seen.

“So, where are we going?” Osamu asks, and Suna’s eyes snap back to the joint that he’s just finished perfecting. Arabella by the Arctic Monkeys starts playing in the background and he takes a beat before answering.

“Nowhere, everywhere.” He replies, revving the engine to life.

“Ah, so we’re being vague today.” Osamu says, leaning his head back on the headrest and turning around to look at Suna. While the Miya Twins have polar opposite personalities, they do share identical features which makes his stare just as daunting as Atsumu’s, if not more.

“When am I ever not vague?” he retorts quietly and Osamu chuckles, his eyes softening.

They drive in silence after that, the sun sinking lower and lower down the West horizon. It washes the streets in shades of orange and pink. Suna hums to the songs, his shoulders slouched as usual but Osamu can see the strain in them. It takes everything in him not to reach out and touch them, maybe do something to ease the tension wound so tight in him. But he doesn’t; all he does is fist his hands in his lap and look out the window because even though they spend most of their days and nights together- be it in school or in this car or the arcade in the heart of the town- Osamu still doesn’t know how to touch Suna Rintarou in the dying light of the day when they are both stone cold sober and there’s a god awful love song playing in the background.

***

They pull up in a desolate parking lot just as the last light of the day fades into a soothing darkness that envelopes them when Suna kills the headlights. They’ve been here plenty of times, and Osamu kind of likes the place; it’s not so abandoned that questionable people might hang around here but it’s always empty enough for them to smoke up after sundown without worrying about who might come checking in on them. Suna is still softly humming under his breath as Osamu turns around to see him balancing the joint between his lips and ruffling around for a lighter on the dashboard. As he pulls out one from his back pocket, Osamu remembers the first time he ever smoked up with Suna.

He was no good at it- Suna had told him that it was very normal for him to cough up a lung because it meant that he was actually inhaling it right- but the thrill of Suna sharing something with him and only him had urged him to try as many times as it took to be as comfortable with it as Suna was; not to mention that he figured that when he was stoned himself, he was a lot less stressed about how he couldn’t take his eyes of the fox eyed boy because everything just felt… _okay_. And now, seven months later, he’s sitting in a car and lighting a joint held precariously between Suna’s lips. The short burst of light from the flame makes the golden yellow of Suna’s eyes leap up and suddenly, there’s not enough air in the car left for even one of Osamu’s lungs.

Suna takes in a few long drags, his eyes almost shuttering close as the weed finally hits, passing the joint to Osamu. There’s enough light coming from a faraway streetlight and their phone screens for him to trace the silhouette of Osamu against the window with his eyes; he memorizes the dips and shadows, the acutely perfect slant of his nose and the way the end of the joint sits so perfectly between Osamu’s lips.

“What’s bothering you?” Suna asks, looking at Osamu as he presses the left side of his face on the headrest.

“Why would you think something is bothering me?” Osamu lets out a puff of smoke through his slightly parted lips, his eyes closed.

“I can tell, dummy.”

“Can you now?” the sides of Osamu’s lips lift up slightly, his shoulders visibly relaxing. _What’s bothering_ _me is that I can’t wait any longer to touch you_ , Osamu thinks to himself, _what’s bothering me is that you probably aren’t dying to touch me the way I am right now. God, you need to stop looking so fucking beautiful all the goddamn time._

But he doesn’t say any of it, just turns his body around in the seat so that he’s facing Suna and passes the joint to him. Their fingertips brush against each other and for a moment the song playing in the background turns to static and he can feel his heartbeat crashing in his ears. Osamu is sure that if he checked the back of his neck right now, it would be crimson.

“You’re really not gonna tell me?” Suna asks, twirling the joint between his fingers, Osamu’s grey eyes are slightly narrowed- they way they are when he’s deep in some thought- and Suna has to fight the urge to brush the tip of his nose against Osamu’s just to wipe that faraway look off his face. It’s selfish, god knows that he knows that it’s really selfish, given that they are nothing more than friends but he wants Osamu all to himself- just for these few hours, just in this car. Maybe he would allow himself to want more because he wants so much more than just driving around, smoking pot and… and _this_ , but he doesn’t know for sure what Osamu wants so he’ll just take this. Whatever this is.

“Trust me, it’s better if you don’t know.” Osamu finally says, locking his eyes with Suna’s.

“Ominous much?” Suna quirks an eyebrow and they both chuckle softly.

They stay like this for a while, just looking at each other. Sober by Lorde plays in the back ground and it takes Osamu a minute to register how painfully befitting the lyrics are.

_But my hips have missed your hips,_

_So, let’s get to know the kicks._

_Will you sway with me?_

_Go astray with me?_

Neither of them is sure who reaches out first, but their fingers brush softly- knuckle against knuckle, calloused tip against tip. Osamu can feel warmth spread through his body that has nothing to do with the marijuana in his bloodstream or the car’s heater. It’s just Suna; just Suna and his glowing eyes.

_These are the games of the weekend,_

_We pretend that we just don’t care_

_But we care._

_But what will we do when we’re sober?_

“Do you want the last hit?” Osamu shakes his head so Suna takes in a long drag, letting his eyes fall shut. When he opens them again, he finds gray eyes trained on him. Tilting his head slightly to the left, he smirks.

“What ideas are you getting now?” Osamu asks, his thumb rubbing circles over Suna’s knuckles.

Before his marijuana induced courage runs out, Suna leans in and brushes his lips against Osamu’s. Just like always, just like they’ve done a thousand times before in this car and in deserted alleys of Hyogo, Osamu opens his lips to let Suna exhale the smoke right into his mouth. Suddenly, Osamu’s free hand is on Suna’s neck, fingers toying with the ends of his hair, and they’re kissing. For a moment it’s soft, hands tracing biceps and jaws as they breathe each other in, lips moving in sync; whispered ‘I missed you’s and ‘god, you’re so fucking beautiful’s hang heavy in the air as Suna’s hands slip under Osamu’s sweatshirt and his nails scratch against the plain’s of Osamu’s chest lightly. 

All of Osamu’s self restraint snaps at that, his teeth clamping down on Suna’s bottom lip roughly. It makes Suna open up his mouth, letting their tongues tangle together. They pull and grapple at each other’s clothes as if the few inches between them are absolute torture and god knows that it is. It is absolute hell to think that this might be the most that they ever get. It seems like both of them have these similar thoughts at the same time because after a few seconds, it’s all teeth and nails and gasped moans.

Neither of them know for how long they kiss like that; both of them say things that they would never dare to say out in the open, in broad daylight and mostly importantly, sober because they think the other can only hear these when they’re so high that all the lines are slightly blurred. But the truth is, they remember; they remember all of it. Suna now likes his golden green eyes more because it’s what Osamu loves the most about him, how they leap out in the dark like a ray of trapped sunlight. He’s sure he stared at his own eyes in the mirror till he almost turned cross eyed afterwards that day after going back home. Osamu doesn’t hold himself back from laughing openly anymore because Suna once said that he almost felt star-struck the first time he heard Osamu laughing.

Suna’s eyes almost flutter close as Osamu’s mouth leaves his and trails down his jaw, peppering wet kisses along the way. He is sure he’s going to combust at any moment now, solely because of how much he wants this boy in front of him. He’s practically whining by the time Osamu kisses his neck, his teeth grazing against the delicate skin; he’s not sure how much he ca-

“’Samu! Did you just-“ Suna gasps, pulling away a little so that he can look at Osamu, “That’s gonna.. gonna leave a mark. That’s a hickey.”

Osamu doesn’t answer right away, partly because he’s breathing too hard and a little because he has no idea what the hell he’s going to say. Suna’s eyes are like headlights in the dark and his breathing is still erratic, a hand pressed lightly where Osamu just bit him. There’s a sheen of rose dusting his cheekbones and his lips are still swollen. It takes everything in Osamu not to go back to kissing him and the marijuana still flowing through him isn’t helping the situation at all. Truth is, he’s not sure why he just did what he did because they both know that it’s an unspoken rule that whatever happens between them, always just stays between them and no leaving traces behind. And a hickey is definitely a mark, a trace. At least, that’s what he’s telling himself.

“Well?” Suna asks softly, and Osamu knows by his tone that he’s not really mad. _Wait, what? He’s not mad?_

“I- I don’t know why I did that.” Osamu says slowly, leaning back and resting his head on the cold glass of the window.

“Liar.” Suna simply states, eyes narrowing.

“Fuck you.” Osamu says but there’s no actual malice behind the words.

“Come here.” Suna mumbles before reaching out and taking Osamu’s hand. They lean in but the kisses are softer now, like somehow they’re saying things instead of just kissing.

They stay like that for a while, breathing and kissing- their hands roaming leisurely, their fingers tracing patterns on exposed bits of skin. Suna wishes Osamu would tell him something, anything about why he just bit him but he tells himself over and over again that this is just plain masochism- there’s no way Osamu would do it for any reason other than being carried away by the heat of the moment. His hands twine through the grey eyed boy’s hair, their lips barely brushing when Osamu pulls away and rests his head against Suna’s.

“I can’t do this.” he whispers, and Suna doesn’t know if he wishes he was more stoned or more sober for whatever it is that Osamu is about to say.

“What do you mean?” Suna asks tentatively, his nose still brushing the tip of Osamu’s nose.

His stomach drops and nearly disappears when Osamu pulls away, his body turning so that Suna can only see his side profile as he leans back on the headrest. There’s a beat of silence between them that stretches out till Suna’s nerves are so jittery that he can feel pin prinks on his palms. _Weed_ , he thinks to himself, fuck _, I need more weed._

“I can’t do this. With you.” Osamu finally says, exhaling through his mouth.

“Why?” Suna asks, even though his mouth has gone so dry that he’s amazed he’s even able to speak, “Why now? This has been going on for months. If you didn’t wan-“

“Because… because I am high out of my mind right now and it’s so easy to touch you, let you touch me. My skin is going to be electrified for the rest of the fucking night because I won’t be able to stop thinking about your fingers on me. I never sleep when I get home after nights like this. Me? Can you imagine that? I can’t sleep.” Osamu gives a wry chuckle, “All because I cannot stop thinking about you. But the sun’s gonna come up tomorrow and we’ll be at school and we’ll act like we weren’t all over each other. All because we’re fucking sober.”

“’Samu…” Suna’s mind is in overdrive. He feels like the ground beneath his feet has been wiped away suddenly and he’s falling through space but he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind at all because all those nights he’d spent lying wide awake in bed- tracing his lips just to remember what it had felt like to have the pressure of Osamu’s ones pressed against his- there’d been someone else who’d missed him like that. _No, not someone; Osamu, my ‘Samu,_ he thought before leaning forward. If he woke up right now to find all this has been one of his unnervingly vivid dreams about Osamu, he’d never get over the disappointment.

“Listen, Osa-“ he begins but Osamu cuts him off.

“I am beginning to hate being sober now, Rintarou.” Osamu’s voice softens so much as he says Suna’s given name that Suna can feel a lump growing in his throat. Osamu’s eyes are still closed, a flight frown forming between his brows, as if he’s bracing himself for a blow. Which is something Suna can relate to, given that the first time he’d kissed Osamu during one of their sessions, he had braced himself to be thrown a few yards away at the very least. But it had never come, that death blow or any sign of disgust.

“’Samu, look at me.” Suna says, reaching out and taking Osamu’s hand. A few beats pass before he looks at him, his grey eyes wary.

Osamu feels like he might throw up right there, right on Suna’s lap, because oh god, what has he done. He knows there’s no going back from there, no way of erasing the last few minutes- the minutes he could’ve spent kissing this boy that he’s so fucking in love with, if only he’d kept his mouth shut. Suna’s fingers are twined around his, and he realizes only now that his hands are shaking.

“It’s okay if-“ he begins, desperately trying to do some damage control.

“Oh my god, listen. Kiss me at school tomorrow.” Suna breathes, his thumb running circles on the back of Osamu’s hand.

“Kiss me at school tomorrow. Kiss me when we’re both stone cold sober.”

***

“You bit me to mark your territory.” Suna says as they pull out of the parking lot, Scary Love by The Neighbourhood playing in the background, “Ew, what the fuck, ‘Samu?”

Osamu just looks at him and grins lazily, his eyes heavily lidded but content in a way Suna’s rarely seen. It makes his chest feel tight and his neck warm up but a laugh bubbles out of him anyway. Maybe it’s the lingering high from the pot, maybe it’s knowing that tomorrow, Osamu Miya might kiss him in some isolated staircase at school.


End file.
